They Cry
by Eurothrashed
Summary: How to damage them just enough so that they'll still cry when you... 'cause it's not worth it if they don't cry. 1st in the They Cry Series COMPLETE


Title: They Cry

Author: MAC/Undead Euro-Trash

Feedback: W_U_L_L_F@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: so not mine

Rating: dunno, don't do ratings... R?

Summary: How to damage them just enough so that they'll still cry when you... 'Cause it's not worth it if they don't cry...

Spoilers: Everything up to some point in season 7, somewhere after _'Lessons'_

Dawn sat on the floor near him; he jerked away at her touch, mumbling low and incoherently. "Spike?" she asked again, this time louder, sterner. 

He stilled, his eyes wide.

"Come here," she said softly, he didn't move, "Now," her tone was sharp, brooking no argument from rambling insane vampires. 

He slinked over, his movements fluid but submissive. His head was ducked, eyes averted to the floor, a low whine sounded from his throat; the brunette gave an aggravated groan of frustration as she let her head fall back against the wall. He was always like this, submissive, timid, and just freakin' scary. It was like he had no right to have his lack of breath or something. She had been beyond angry about what he had tried to do to Buffy; but after seeing him like this... like he was now... insane... forgiveness came pretty easy. It was wiggy. If she ordered him to do something he did it, all creepy with the groveling. It made her want to beat his backbone and dignity back into him... but if she hit him he'd be scared of her... more scared. 

He rambled on and on about her glowing, about her being a pretty green light... so, yeah, no mistake that he wasn't playing with a full deck... he cheated a poker anyway. 

"I got a _'F'_ on my algebra homework," she told him frowning at the memory, "I think my teacher enjoys flunking me." He was watching her with those huge blue eyes nodding at every other word that fell from her lips. Dawn wasn't sure if he could understand her; he probably just liked listening to her talk. It got pretty quiet, almost too quiet; the silence was enough to drive her crazy. She wondered if it was working that way on him- -him being all with the insanity and stuff. Silence wasn't good unless it was comfortable silence; there was nothing comfortable about the lack of sound in Sunnydale High's basement. 

"Loved her," he mumbled, "_'Service the girl'_," Spike sneered, "Girl don't wanna be serviced, 'cause the spark died, and all that's left is flesh, cold, dead, flesh. My flesh." He turned looking straight at Dawn, "I'm not worthy, of you, of _*her*_, just flesh to please, to please the girls, all those pretty girls..."

"Why aren't you worthy?" she asked not understanding what he was rambling about, it was the first sentences he had strung together for hours, she was going to keep him talking.

"Not real," he told her holding his outstretched hand at eye-level, "I'm a thing."

"No," she soothed, "I'm not real, you're real-er than me, you were here before I was, you're very real. If being fake means you're not worthy, I've got that in spades," she told him gently if a bit self-mocking. It didn't bother her as much as it used to, and if she had to bring up her Key-ness to make Spike feel better it was a small price to pay.

"Pretty girls should be shown their value," he whispered putting his hand down, "Got the girl a present, but it wasn't right, deserved better, didn't show her value. Gave the girl all of myself and I couldn't bask in her shine; too bright she was. No worthy, lowly devil that I am never understood why I was hated; I'm dead."

"Spike you're not hated," she smiled cajolingly, trying to get him out of his depression.

He turned his head locking his blue depths with her, "You must hate me," he stated, "Pretty girls hate bad, rude, men. Nasty sorts that dirty their skirts and bruise their young flesh, that make them cry and sob, that do naughty things that should never be done out of marriage... you must hate me," Spike ran a hand over his face, "I hate me."

"I don't hate you, I'm a little disappointed in you, but I don't hate you."

"Disappointed?" he asked laughing as he stood, "My Nibblet's disappointed!" he shouted throwing his head back, "Bloody hell," he said under his breath, "Should've fallen in love with this one," he said to the walls around him pointing at the bitty brunette. "Never could stay cross with me," he grinned, his smile insanely wide, "Never should've bothered with the Slayer, just trail after the youngest, should've listened to my demon." He was laughing now, running his hands through his dirty-blonde platinum mixed curls. "But no," he wagged his finger disapprovingly, "Gotta follow propriety, little girls belong in school with little books and little lessons in their pretty little dresses... they don't belong with monsters in the dark."

Rushing her, he grabbed Dawn's hand pulling her to his chest he twirled her around not letting her feet touch the floor. "They go to parties and dance," he told her; unable to help herself the brunette squealed with delight, when Buffy had been _'gone'_ they'd play board games and have tickle wars... he even taught her how to dance like they did _'back in the day'_. He didn't even get mad when she stepped on his feet; he'd just grin and twirl her around like he was doing now... "They have suitors, young strapping blokes who want to marry them, all the pretty frillies 'bout your age, Pigeon. Too bad the monks couldn'tve make you fetchingly human sooner," Spike set her on her feet but still held her hand, still dancing with her.

"You would've liked me, baby," he leered coming in close almost letting their noses touch, "Smart, rich, a lit'l bit of a pansy, but I think you would've liked me." Moving away her spun her out, "I could've written you poetry and love sonnets, we would've had a big church wedding, my mum would've liked you, y'know? She always said I should find a nice young Lady, nobody nicer than you, 'bit."

"You know you're completely Loony Toons, right?" Dawn gave him a smile; Spike just nodded as he led her around the ballroom floor that only he could see.

"Crazy s'not so bad," he said, "I was in love with crazy for over a century, makes things... interesting."

"I bet," she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"So what do you think?" he asked dropping her hand and bowing to her very crisp and polite. "Think I would've passed muster? I would've been all flustered and tender, confessing my heart out, would've told you I loved you... would've wanted to marry you all proper, give you my last name, buy us a home in the country," a whisp of smile worked into his pale features. "Think you would have wanted a poetic little sod with an old-money surname?"

Dawn tilted her head to the side, it was all a game, they were just playing, it was a _'what if'_ question; plus he was completely soup and crackers it wasn't like he meant anything by his sudden coherent chattiness. "Maybe," she said, "I kinda like the Big Bad though."

"Give good ol' Will some time," he winked. "Might be a Nancy-boy, but he's gotta spine, he'd protect your honour, he'd make you proud. Real good boy, not the rude sort, wouldn't dirty your skirts, would be everything proper boys should be." With his hand holding hers and his other on her waist he dipped her and then brought her back up, leading her through complicated steps and spinning her out then in. "Not that Will isn't bad deep down," he grinned naughtily at her, "I'm proof enough of that."

"You're not that bad," the brunette dismissed.

"Ah, girly thinks the Big Bad is all stories and wisdomly advice," he gave her a mocking smile. "True, haven't really proven I'm not, have I? Oh well, guess you just get left thinkin' I'm a good boy for now, but I can hurt you so many ways, Poppet, I can make you scream so loud. They always scream, always cry," he gave her an appraising glance, "You'd cry," he said sounding certain.

"When I'm inside them they always cry, joy or sorrow, they always cry, would you like me to make you cry?"

Dawn abruptly moved away, fear on her face, "What?!"

"Why else would a little girl visit a devil?" he asked, "I'm just a nasty thing that likes little girls. I make them bleed, I make them cry; I fill them and empty them, fangs and cock..." ducking his head he retreated into the shadows. "Always hurt the one you love, wonder if I love you enough to hurt you, but I could be good. Would've married you, would've been your Romeo, just none of the bothersome star-crossed-lovers parts."

"You don't love me," she shook her head a humouring smile on her lips.

"Everyone likes to think that;" he growled frustrated. "Loved you before the Slayer, wanted you before and after her, never said goodbye, just left, didn't want to see tears... Got the soul for _*her*_, came back for _*you*_."

"A soul?" the bitty brunette was at his side in an instant, "You got you're soul?"

"The spark didn't die," he whispered, "Just got re-shelved."

"What did you go and get your soul for?" she was frowning at him.

"For her," he said simply, "But it just bollocksed everythin' up, made me love you more, William would've loved you till it killed him, can I be William?" he asked, pleading, his fingers toying with a loose strand of her hair. "Just for now, baby girl, can I love you till it kills me?"

Before she could say anything, Spike fell to his knees in front of her, his arms slipping around her waist his cheek resting against her stomach. "I could love you," he whispered raggedly, "I could hold you, I could kiss you, I could sit still and listen to your heart. I could be quiet, would you let me be quiet? Would you help me sit still? Just so tender, in my arms, I could love you." For how rushed and heavy his voice was, Dawn was sure he was crying, or fixing to, he sounded so lost, so completely lost. Her hands cradled his head, her fingers smoothing his hair; a few absent tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Told you you'd cry," he murmured against her shirt. "They always cry."

~END~


End file.
